Taken by the Millionaire: Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded

Taken by the Millionaire
Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded
Kate Hardy
Naughty Nights In The Millionaire’s Mansion
Robyn Grady
Big-Shot Bachelor
Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Naughty Nights In The Millionaire’s Mansion

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Big-Shot Bachelor

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded

KATE HARDY lives on the outskirts of Norwich, with her husband, two small children, a dog—and too many books to count! She wrote her first book at age six, when her parents gave her a typewriter for her birthday.

She had the first of a series of sexy romances published at twenty-five, and swapped a job in marketing communications for freelance health journalism when her son was born, so she could spend more time with him. She’s wanted to write for Mills & Boon since she was twelve, and when she was pregnant with her daughter, her husband pointed out that writing medical romances would be the perfect way to combine her interest in health issues with her love of good stories.

Kate is always delighted to hear from readers—do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com.

For Chrissy and Rich—the best aunt and uncle in the world—with love

CHAPTER ONE

‘RUN that by me again.’ No way could Isobel have heard him correctly. She was used to Alex asking if he could sleep on her sofa while he was in London between digs or on a flying visit—his own flat in London was let out to tenants—but this request …

She must’ve been hearing things.

‘Will you marry me?’ Alex repeated.

Exactly what Isobel thought he’d said.

Was this some kind of joke?

Unlikely, because he looked serious. Besides, Alex didn’t make that kind of joke. She frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Have you gone temporarily insane, or something?’

‘No. I just need to get married. And I think you’d be the perfect wife.’

Oh, no, she wouldn’t. She’d already failed spectacularly with Gary. ‘You get women posting their knickers to you. You could get married to any woman you wanted.’

He laughed. ‘They don’t post their knickers to me, Bel. That’s a vicious rumour started by Saskia.’

Saskia was Alex’s baby sister and had been Isobel’s best friend since they were toddlers. Though Isobel wasn’t so sure the comment was just sibling teasing. ‘I know for a fact you get asked out by more women than most men even dream about.’

‘Women who fantasise about The Hunter—not about me.’

‘You’re one and the same, in their eyes.’ In hers, too: Alex had presented three series of a popular television archaeology programme, based on a series of articles he’d written for a leading Sunday newspaper, and when Isobel had curled up to watch the programmes she’d thought he came across just as he was in real life. Clever and extremely well read, but with a bit of flamboyance that had women dropping at his feet and the kind of easy charm that meant he made friends effortlessly and couldn’t go anywhere without half a dozen people hailing him by name. It had been like that even before he’d been catapulted to fame as ‘The Hunter’, an explorer who delved in ancient places and found treasure; but nowadays, with national television exposure, he was recognised by people he’d never even met.

‘Just let it slip to one of your gossip-column friends that you’re looking for a wife and there’ll be queues for miles,’ she suggested.

‘Gossip-column journos aren’t anybody’s friends except their own,’ he corrected. ‘And none of those women would be like you—sensible and settled.’

She coughed. ‘You’re digging yourself deeper into that hole, Alex.’ He wanted to marry her because she was sensible? Give her a break. That wasn’t why people got married.

Then again, marrying for love hadn’t exactly worked for her, had it? Her marriage hadn’t survived its final crisis.

‘Why do you need to get married anyway?’ she asked.

‘Because I need to get a job.’

‘This is beginning to feel like Alice Through the Looking Glass. The harder I try to understand this, the weirder it seems.’ She shook her head. ‘Apart from the fact that you don’t need to get married to get a job, why do you even need a job in the first place? You’re loaded.’

Alex waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s got nothing to do with money.’

‘So what, then?’

‘It’s complicated,’ he hedged.

She leaned back against the sofa. ‘You’re not getting out of it that easily, Alex. Explain. Why do you need to get married?’

‘Because of this job. It’s perfect, Bel—Chief Archaeological Consultant for a firm that works with all the big property developers. When the developers plan to build on a site and discover remains of some structure they hadn’t even known existed, or we already know there are remains in the area that need to be conserved or recorded before any development work can start, I’d be in charge of a team of archaeologists who’d excavate the site.’

‘A desk job, you mean?’ She shook her head, scoffing. ‘No way. You’d last five minutes before you came down with a case of terminal boredom.’

‘It’s not a desk job. I’ll be doing the initial site visits and setting up the exploration, liaising with planning officers and talking people into giving us more time than they really want to for excavation work. Plus I’d be talking to the press, explaining the significance of the find.’

Put that way, it sounded just the sort of thing he’d enjoy doing. Alex would love the chance to be the first one in maybe hundreds of years to discover something. And the time pressure to excavate the site as thoroughly but as quickly as possible, so the builders could finish their job on schedule, would just add to the thrill for him. He thrived on being too busy.

‘I still don’t understand why you need a job. Aren’t you going to do the Hunter stuff any more?’

‘Of course I am.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s only for a few weeks a year.’

She understood where he was coming from. Alex was a workaholic—it was the only way to explain how he managed to pack more into two days than the average person did in a working week—and he liked it that way. ‘In other words, not enough to keep you busy and out of mischief.’

He laughed. ‘Exactly. I could do more TV work, I suppose, but I’ve talked to my agent and I agree with him that overexposure would be a mistake. It’s better to keep the series the length it is and leave people wanting more, rather than them seeing my face and thinking, Oh, no, not him again, and switching off. So I need something else to keep me occupied.’

‘What about your articles?’

He shrugged. ‘As you say, a desk job would drive me crazy. I need something with a lot of variety.’

‘Lecturing, then? If you had tutorial groups as well, that’d give you the variety because your students would all be different.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ve had offers, but to be honest I don’t really want to teach.’

Isobel frowned. ‘What’s wrong with what you do now?’

‘Nothing. I love freelancing. But I’m thirty-five, Bel. I need to be realistic about the future. In ten or twenty years I’m not going to want to spend hours at a time on my knees in a trench in the pouring rain. So I want to make the right career move now, while all my options are still wide open.’

It was a fair point, although Isobel thought Alex had enough strength of personality to make his own opportunities. She had a feeling there was a bit more to it than what he was telling her, but she couldn’t work out what. A relationship that had gone wrong? Surely not, because Alex kept his relationships light and very casual and in all the years she’d known him she couldn’t remember a girlfriend lasting more than half a dozen dates.

Maybe she was asking the wrong questions.

‘I still don’t understand where the married bit comes in.’

‘Apparently, the guy who owns the company wants a married man for the job.’

She snorted. ‘No way. That’s discrimination. It’s against the law, Alex.’

‘They’re not going to be able to ask me outright about my marital status,’ he agreed. ‘But it seems the last two guys they hired lasted all of six weeks before they got an offer they couldn’t refuse for—I quote—a really glamorous dig abroad.’

They both laughed, knowing that real archaeology wasn’t glamorous in the slightest. The stuff Alex did on TV accounted for a tiny fraction of the hard graft behind the scenes, and certainly didn’t take account of being on your knees in a muddy trench for hour after hour, or the long gaps between finds.

‘So third time around they want someone settled,’ he continued. ‘The word is they’re looking for someone who’ll commit to the project for at least two years. And, you know as well as I do, a married man’s seen as more dependable than a single guy because he’s already made a commitment.’

She flinched. ‘Marriage doesn’t always mean commitment.’

He winced. ‘Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to rip open old wounds.’

‘I know you didn’t.’ Alex didn’t always think. Mainly because he did things at a hundred miles an hour and his head was stuffed full of the past—just like her own. Which was one of the reasons why she’d always got on so well with him.

He took her hand and squeezed it briefly. ‘But you know what I mean. My reputation’s going to count against me. The Hunter, a gypsy vagabond.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re hardly a vagabond, Alex.’ Even though he did have itchy feet and didn’t tend to stay long in one place.

‘But I’m part gypsy. My mother says I’m a throwback to her grandfather—’

‘Who met your great-grandmother when she accompanied your great-great-grandfather to a dig in Egypt in the nineteen twenties, and your great-grandfather fell in love with her,’ Isobel finished. She knew the story, and she’d always privately thought it really romantic.

Archaeology was in Alex’s blood. And so too was the gypsy heritage. Which was why ‘The Hunter’ was his perfect screen persona: dressed in jeans with a white shirt, and a battered Akubra hat worn at a rakish angle, Alex Richardson made women swoon. That and his dark curls, his hair worn slightly too long, his exotic olive skin, and those piercing light grey eyes, completely unexpected with the rest of his colouring.

‘Look, I’ve spent the last few years travelling the world. On digs or for the show, admittedly, but still travelling.’

‘Which shows commitment to your job,’ she pointed out.

‘It’s not enough.’ He shook his head in apparent frustration. ‘The series played me up as the sort who won’t obey orders—a maverick who’ll go his own way regardless.’

She couldn’t argue with that. Besides, that was exactly what Alex was like—not that there was any point in telling him.

‘So that’s why I need a wife. To prove I’m settled.’

‘I still think it’s a crazy reason to get married. And why ask me?’

‘I already told you. Because you’re settled.’

That stung, and she couldn’t help sniping, ‘You mean I’m staid and boring.’

He laughed. ‘No. Just I’ve known you for ever. You’re the girl next door.’

‘Strictly speaking, I haven’t lived next door to you since I was thirteen and you went to Oxford,’ she said dryly. ‘Which is the best part of seventeen years ago.’

‘You were still there when I came home for the holidays,’ he reminded her.

The girl next door. As familiar as wallpaper. Alex hadn’t noticed her as a woman.

At her continued silence, he sighed. ‘Look, I never planned to get married. Archaeology’s my life—just as the museum is yours. There isn’t room in my life for another relationship.’

She raised an eyebrow.

He winced. ‘Sorry, Bel. That came out wrong. Mouth in gear, brain not. What I mean is, if I’m going to get married, I want to marry someone I like a lot. Someone I’ve got a lot in common with. Someone I trust.’

It should’ve warmed her that he felt that way about her. Trusted her. Liked her a lot. Exactly the way she felt about him. But she couldn’t help asking, ‘What about love?’

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘I don’t believe in it.’

She knew where he was coming from. She didn’t believe in love any more, either. She’d loved Gary, but it hadn’t been enough to make their marriage work. Though at the same time, marriage without love seemed … wrong, somehow. ‘All three of your sisters are married,’ she remarked. ‘And if they weren’t happy and in love with their husbands—’

‘I’d take their husbands apart,’ he admitted. ‘Very slowly. And remove their hearts with a rusty spoon.’

Although Alex rolled his Rs and his eyes, she wasn’t sure that he was being entirely dramatic.

‘But it’s different for the girls.’

Sexism? From Alex? Now that she hadn’t expected. ‘Since when did you turn into a chauvinist?’

He frowned. ‘I’m not. It’s got nothing to do with gender. Just that …’ he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug ‘… I’m not like them.’

‘So this marriage business—you’re looking for someone you like, someone who shares your interests, and who’s not going to tie you down.’

‘I’m not planning to have a string of girlfriends or be unfaithful to my wife, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Alex dated a lot. Which meant he had a lot of sex. If he was giving that up … did that mean he was planning to have sex only with his wife?

With her?

Oh, Lord.

The last twelve years suddenly unravelled, back to when she’d been eighteen and Alex had kissed her. Just once. But what a ‘once’ it had been. He’d actually taken her breath away. For one mad moment she’d thought that Alex had noticed her—that instead of seeing her as just his little sister’s best friend, the girl he’d known for years, he’d seen her as a soul mate. Someone who shared his interests. Someone he was attracted to. And then she’d realised he was being kind. Showing her that just because her rat of a boyfriend had dumped her, it didn’t mean that she’d never be kissed again.

He’d even said as much. Said that she’d soon find someone else. Added that she had a whole world to conquer.

That kiss hadn’t meant the same thing to him as it had to her. And Isobel was pretty sure things hadn’t changed since then. Alex saw her as a friend—a close friend, but just as a friend.

So no way would this marriage work.

She couldn’t do it.

She’d already ended up in one loveless marriage, and she really couldn’t face starting another on the same basis. She dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. I can’t marry you.’

CHAPTER TWO

ALEX schooled his features into neutral. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s wrong to get married without loving each other.’

He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Of course I love you, Bel.’

‘But not in that way, Alex. And I’m not putting myself through that again.’

Alex stared at her. ‘Hang on. Are you telling me Gary didn’t love you? That he was unfaithful to you?’

She shook her head. ‘He didn’t break his marriage vows, no. Let’s just leave it that our marriage turned into a mess.’

She looked uncomfortable, and Alex knew Isobel wasn’t telling him the whole story—but he also knew not to push her. She’d talk to him when she was ready. She always had.

‘Though it didn’t take him very long to find someone else.’ Isobel dragged in a breath. ‘His new partner’s just had their first baby.’

That had clearly hurt her. He’d never asked Isobel why she’d split up with Gary—because it wasn’t any of his business and he didn’t want to rake open any painful wounds—but he’d always supposed that Gary had wanted a baby and she hadn’t been prepared to make any compromises with the career she loved.

So had his guess been completely wrong? Was Isobel the one who’d wanted children?

No, of course not. She adored Saskia’s daughter, Flora—her god-daughter and Alex’s niece—but Alex had always assumed that it went with the territory of being Saskia’s best friend. Isobel liked children, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to do her job—but she really, really loved what she did. A museum interpreter who worked with hands-on exhibits, dressing up as a Roman matron during school holidays or at weekends and giving cookery demonstrations and showing people what everyday life was like in Roman Britain, as well as working behind the scenes as a curator on the exhibitions that toured other museums.

So if it wasn’t the baby, maybe she was upset because the baby signalled that things were well and truly over between her and Gary. That they could never go back to how things were.

According to his sister, Isobel had rarely dated since her marriage ended two years ago, so maybe she was still in love with Gary. Alex had never thought Gary was good enough for her—for starters, the man had a feeble handshake and no imagination—but he also didn’t like seeing Isobel hurt and miserable. ‘Come here.’ He slid his arms round her and held her close. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘That it didn’t work out for you. That he let you down.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but he was never good enough for you.’

‘But he didn’t ask me to marry him just because I’m staid and sensible.’

Alex pulled back slightly and looked her in the eye. ‘I asked you because I want this job and being a married man is going to give me the edge I need.’

‘Rubbish. You can talk your way into anything.’

‘Apart from getting you to marry me, you mean,’ he parried. ‘And you didn’t let me finish. Whatever I said about you being sensible—which you are—the main reason I asked you is because you’re my friend. I’ve known you for years and years. I enjoy your company and I trust you. And that’s a much, much stronger basis for a marriage than being “in love” with someone.’ Thinking of Dorinda, Alex curled his lip. She’d been his biggest mistake ever. And she’d taught him all about the misery of love. A lesson that meant he wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. ‘Being “in love” is just temporary. It’s hormonal. Whereas what we’ve got has a much more solid foundation and it’s not going to change.’

‘Isn’t it? Because that’s what worries me, Alex.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to lose your friendship when it all goes pear-shaped.’

He sighed. ‘Apart from the fact that it’s not going to go pear-shaped, things aren’t going to change between us.’

‘How do you know? Unless you’re talking about a marriage in name only—and as you said you weren’t planning to have a string of girlfriends, I have to assume you’re …’ Her voice tailed off and she actually blushed.

He’d never seen her colour like that before.

And even though he knew he wasn’t playing fair, he couldn’t resist teasing her. ‘Assume what, Bel?’

‘That getting married means having sex with each other.’ Her flush deepened.

Alex felt as if his skin were suddenly burning, too. Sex with Isobel. Right now, he was holding her. Loosely, admittedly, but he was still holding her. All he had to do was move forward a fraction, dip his head, and he could kiss her.

His mouth went dry.

He could remember the last time he’d kissed her, other than the usual peck on the cheeks that accompanied their welcoming hugs when they hadn’t seen each other for a while. The night she’d come round to their house, crying her eyes out because her boyfriend had dumped her for someone more glamorous and less studious, and he’d answered the door. Saskia had been out, so he’d taken Isobel into the summer house in their garden for a heart-to-heart. He’d told her that the boyfriend was an idiot and it didn’t matter because there was a whole world out there just waiting for her to conquer it.

And he’d kissed her.

Just once.

Before remembering that Isobel was eighteen to his twenty-three, much less worldly-wise, and he really shouldn’t be kissing her like that.

Now he wondered what would’ve happened if he’d kissed her a second time. Would they have ended up making love in the summer house? Would he have been the one to introduce her to the pleasures of love-making?

And what shocked him even more was that his body was reacting even now at the thought of it.

Making love with Isobel.

He became aware that she was speaking.

‘And besides, I’m not your type.’

‘I don’t have a type,’ Alex protested.

‘Yes, you do. You always go for tall, skinny brunettes with legs up to their armpits.’

‘You have dark hair.’ The colour of a chestnut that had just slipped out of its prickly case, it was soft and silky when he ran his fingers through it. ‘And you’re not short.’ She was curvy rather than skinny, though with three younger sisters he knew much better than to discuss a woman’s weight or body shape.

‘I’m five feet four. That makes me slightly shorter than the average woman.’

He smiled at her. ‘It also makes you two inches taller than the average Roman woman in the fourth century.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Trust you to know that.’

He laughed. ‘Actually, you were the one who told me. When you were researching your first talk about Roman women.’

She stared at him in obvious surprise. ‘You remember that?’

‘Course I do. We must have sat up half the night talking about it. Well, after I’d bored the pants off you with all those photographs of the dig I’d just come back from.’

‘I wasn’t bored.’

‘See? We have things in common. Lots of things. And we like each other. Getting married would work, Bel.’

The colour was back in her cheeks, even deeper this time. ‘Supposing we’re not, um, compatible?’

‘Compatible?’

‘In bed,’ she muttered. ‘What if I’m rubbish at sex?’

‘If that’s what Gary said, he clearly wasn’t doing it right—and his ego made him blame you.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Look at me, Bel,’ he said softly. She had huge brown eyes that had topaz glints when she laughed, and a perfect rosebud mouth. Why had he never really noticed that before? ‘I think we’d be …’ he paused as his heart gave an unexpected kick ‘… compatible.’

‘I can’t believe we’re even discussing this!’ She pulled back from him. ‘So why didn’t you ever get married, Alex?’

He let her go. ‘Because my job meant a lot of travelling—and that meant either living apart from my wife most of the time, or dragging her around the world with me. Neither option’s a fair one.’

‘And you never met anyone who made you want to stay in one place?’

Once, but that had been a long time ago. In the days when he’d still worn rose-coloured glasses. Before he’d discovered that Dorinda was a liar and a cheat and had played everyone for a fool, including him. Since then, he’d never quite been able to trust anyone. He’d held back in his relationships, unwilling to risk his heart again and have it ground beneath a stiletto heel. Keeping things light and fun had worked for him, until now. ‘I told you, I don’t believe in love. But I do believe in friendship. In honesty. And if you marry me, Bel, I’ll be a good husband to you.’ A much better one than Gary had been.

‘I can’t get married. Ask someone else.’

There wasn’t anyone else he’d trust enough to marry. He shrugged. ‘Look, forget I asked. Come on, I’m taking you out to dinner.’

‘Why?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not an ulterior motive. You’ve said no and I’m not going to bully you into saying yes. Bel, you’re putting me up for a few days, so taking you out for dinner to say thank you is the least I can do.’

‘Alex, you don’t need to do that. You know I never mind you staying here.’

He smiled. ‘I know. But I like having dinner out with you. I like talking history and arguing over interpretations and laughing too much and eating half your pudding—because I’m greedy and you’re always nice to me.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re impossible.’

‘Uh-huh.’ But to his relief she was smiling and relaxed with him again. ‘Is that Moroccan place we went to last time still open?’

‘I think so.’

‘Good. Let’s go.’

It always surprised Isobel slightly that Alex liked taking the tube rather than a taxi. Then again, on the tube people were careful not to catch anyone’s eye, so although he’d probably be recognised it was unlikely that someone would ask for an autograph or a photograph with him taken with the camera on their mobile phone. Besides, without the hat, people were more likely to think he was a guy who just happened to look like the archaeologist from the show, rather than being the man himself.

It was practically impossible to talk on the tube; there were just too many people squashed onto the train. During late spring and summer, rush hour seemed to last a lot longer; the office workers crushing onto the train were quickly replaced by tourists.

Isobel wasn’t sure whether it made her more relieved or uptight—or both at the same time. Relieved, because she didn’t have to make eye contact or conversation with Alex. And uptight, because it gave her time to think about what he’d said.

Getting married—to Alex.

Having sex—with Alex.

Oh, Lord.

She’d enjoyed her friendship with Alex. She always had.

And she’d married Gary because she’d loved him.

But a little bit of her had always wondered: what if Alex hadn’t had his string of glamorous girlfriends? What if he’d repeated that kiss when she was twenty-one? What if she’d ended up with Alex instead of Gary?

Panic skittered through her. She had to be insane even to be considering this. Marriage wouldn’t work. She’d had one serious relationship before Gary, so she was hardly experienced—whereas Alex had practically had a girlfriend at every dig, not to mention the ones in between. She’d never be able to live up to his expectations.

His words echoed in her head. I enjoy your company and I trust you. And that’s a much, much stronger basis for a marriage than being ‘in love’ with someone.

Was he right? Were friendship and trust a better basis for a marriage than love and desire? Should she have said yes?

A note appeared in front of her eyes. In Alex’s spiky, confident handwriting.

‘Stop brooding. “Dinner” means dinner.’

The last word was in capitals and underlined three times.

She faced him. Sorry, she mouthed.

He smiled, and it gave her a weird sensation—as if her heart had just done a somersault. Which was anatomically impossible and completely ridiculous. Especially as, at the age of thirty, she was way, way past the teenage heartthrob stage.

And then it was their stop.

The crowds of people swirling round them meant it was still impossible to talk. But she was aware that Alex was behind her on the escalator. So close she could have leaned back against him.

What would it be like to feel Alex’s arms round her?

What would it be like to feel his hands against her bare skin?

What would it be like to feel his mouth touching her body intimately?

‘OK?’ he asked when they were through the ticket barrier and standing outside on the street.

‘Fine.’

‘Liar.’ He caught her hand and squeezed it briefly.

The lightest contact … and it sent a shiver all the way through her. Woke nerve-endings she’d forgotten she had.

No.

It wasn’t possible for her to feel like this about Alex. And even thinking about it meant she was storing up trouble for herself. She’d loved Gary. Deeply. But it hadn’t stopped everything going wrong. So she had to keep some kind of distance between herself and Alex, not let her heart get involved.

Or her libido.

‘I’m not lying,’ she mumbled, but she didn’t look him in the eye until they got to the Moroccan restaurant.

Alex insisted on holding the door open for her. ‘I don’t care if it offends your feminist nature. It’s good manners and it’s how I was brought up,’ he informed her.

It was how she’d been brought up, too. ‘Thank you,’ she said, meaning it.

Stepping inside the restaurant was like stepping out of London and into a souk. The air smelled of cinnamon and cardamom, and the décor was as beautiful as she remembered it; the walls were painted shades of saffron and terracotta and deep red, there were rich silks everywhere, the wrought iron chairs were covered with bright silk cushions toning with the walls, and the silk hanging from the ceiling gave the place the effect of being in some rich prince’s tent. Tea-light candles flickered on the glass tabletops, and rose petals were scattered everywhere.